


the only way (up, out) is forward (through)

by MaySparrow



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara Has Their Own Body, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Soft Chara, Undertale Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8976943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaySparrow/pseuds/MaySparrow
Summary: When Gerson turns to them, their eyes are on the counter. He’s got a sneaking suspicion they’ve been thinking about this a lot—that it’s been on their mind since they left the mountain, even. He offers their cup to them, and they accept it quietly. When he finally speaks, he’s very mindful of his tone.“Do you remember when your family led us out of Home?”-Three years after the exodus from the Underground, Gerson gets a visit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> \--through death, through suffering, through loss, through the underground.
> 
> Happy Holidays I've been meaning to write this since October.
> 
> This entire work is spoilers for the Post-Pacifist ending, and follows the headcanon Chara is the narrator/flavortext for Undertale. After the barrier is broken, they get a new body--but Asriel is still a flower. None of these things are outright mentioned, but it's necessary to know for all of Chara's responses to fully make sense.

Weak sunlight makes a valiant effort to leak into the windows of the tiny shop. It’s downcast, dreary, and altogether pleasant for his creaky joints and sensitive eyes.

The migration out of Mt Ebott was similar to the migration through it; those who were acclimated to the wet, the hot, and the cold, sorted their belongings, pulled out human maps, and went their ways to a new home. New New Home? Newest Home? Asgore has long since stopped being allowed to name things, someone has decided. Gerson doesn’t know the details, and doesn’t care to ask. He’s content to settle close to the excursion point, buy a shop that doubles as his home, and sell his tea like he’s always done since he deigned his position as Head of the Guard to someone else. Every so often, he returns to Waterfall, collects glowing water from the marshes, and listens to the music box playing in the caverns.

Now, he removes the pot from the stove, lifting the lid and stirring in spoonfuls of the marsh water. He lets it steep—lets the smell fill the shop. Over the countertop, over the crabapples, out the open windows and the shop door that opens with a small _ding!_ that makes him look up with a smile.

The teen doesn’t linger in the doorway; they’re quick to shut it behind them, glancing out the glass pane inlaid in it. They look out into the cool day, and then turn to look at Gerson. He grins back.

“Well, hey there, highness. You’re just in time for a cup of my world-famous Sea Tea. Quit lingerin’ in the doorway and come have a seat!”

The human seems a bit sheepish at the title, as they make their way to the counter, unknotting their knit scarf to let it rest on their shoulders. Gerson smiles at Chara, old eyes wrinkled pleasantly, and he pours them both a cup of still-steaming tea, watching how they set their fingers on the counter, folded and half curled, relaxing and tensing.

“Hi, Gerson. How are you doing?” They smile. It doesn’t quite meet their eyes. That’s alright! He doesn’t mind it too much—they’ve always been a very worked up kid. It’s hard to take offense.

“I’m doin’ just fine, kiddo. Haven’t seen you or your folks since, what, your party? But the ol’ Hammer of Justice is the same as always! Wa-hah!”

That smile is more genuine, now. They sip the tea pleasantly, ducking their eyes, and Gerson leans over the counter, tugging at the remains of his beard. He’s careful with his tone, and his eyes stay on them as he continues.

“But yanno, I got a feeling you didn’t just stop by for small talk. Didja?”

The way they duck their head is admission of guilt, and he laughs, a nice big _wa-ha-ha!_ as his old blunt claws reach and ruffle their hair quite gently. Even as Chara’s shoulders tense to their ears, he can see the smile growing on their face, before he pulls his hand back and drinks his own tea.

And then their smile slips again, and they stare at their cup with a small hum.

“No. I’m sorry. I wanted to see you and catch up, too, but. I also had a question for you. Is that okay?”

“A question for me, huh? Must be important for you to come out this far,” he replies in a thoughtful tone, leaning back and stroking his beard once more. “Lay it on me.”

Chara sets their cup down—they hold it between their fingers on the counter, biting into the flesh of their lower lip. It’s a habit they’ve never found the power to kick completely. He remembers, when he would visit the capitol after they first fell, how they would worry the inside of their cheeks, nibble their nails and scratch at their wrists. Even now, after they’ve been given life again, they still have little signs of anxiety. He still knows ‘em too well.

“Do you think,” they start, and then pause, inhaling. “Sorry. Lemme try again.” He waits.

“Ever since… well, the exodus, I’ve felt very. Guilty, I think. Because, even if the barrier’s broken, a lot of things are. Broken, I guess. And it’s my fault, you know? I’m the one who got—who made everyone lose hope. Because of my actions, Mom and Dad don’t talk or get along. And—and people died! And monsters were stuck, and—“

“Slow down, kiddo,” he offers, but does not interrupt. They pause, staring at their fingers and forcing them to relax around the teacup.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. I can tell this has been on your mind a while, huh? Go on and ask your question,” Gerson offers kindly, eyeing the kid’s half-empty cup. Should refill that. In a minute.

They seem to regather themself, taking a deep breath, and releasing it.

“Everyone seems to have moved forward. Forgiven me to some extent, you know? We’ve been free for a few years now, everyone’s got lives on the surface and they’re so happy. And they want _me_ to move forward to. But how do I do that? I don’t understand why everyone’s forgiven me so easily—Mom and Dad, I’m their kid, so they’d always forgive me for anything, but everyone else. They don’t remember the way monsters were so hopeful. They don’t even all know what I did. So. I don’t know.”

Gerson makes a low thoughtful noise, before he takes Chara’s cup to refill. As he turns his back, he says, nonchalantly, “And you wanted someone who could remember those times to tell you why you should move forward, huh? Cos people forgiving you doesn’t seem, what, genuine?”

He wonders if they flinch at that—he hadn’t meant to make it sound so harsh. In any case, their tone is soft and full of regret.

“It’s. I want to know why _I_ deserve this. Why me being around makes anyone happy to begin with. Honestly, it just feels like I ruined everything, why do I deserve to have a happy ending too?”

When Gerson turns to them, their eyes are on the counter. He’s got a sneaking suspicion they’ve been thinking about this a lot—that it’s been on their mind since they left the mountain, even. He offers their cup to them, and they accept it quietly. When he finally speaks, he’s very mindful of his tone.

“Do you remember when your family led us out of Home?"

From the way they frown, the question catches Chara off guard. They nod.

“Well, before ya fell, we’d stayed in what became the Ruins for a good few hundred years. Since we were trapped Underground, actually. You knew that, right? We went as deep into the caverns as we could go.”

Again, they nod, confusion clear on their face.

Gerson thumbs the edge of his cup, grinning at the gently glowing contents.

“And then you showed up! All that time in Home, and it was only when you showed up that your dad decided we should be. Mm. Brave enough, I think, to venture back out. It was like your being around was the only thing that moved us forward. After you an’ Asriel—“ here, Chara looks back down to their cup “—after you two died, the Underground got stuck again. It was like without you around, monsters. Hm. They stagnated.”

Chara’s brow is furrowing. He continues, eyes on their scarf. It looks handmade. They were always good at that.

“And yeah, time passed, but nothin’ _changed_. Your dad—you’ve seen his journal. We all stayed in the same spot, tryin’ to be hopeful, but never doin’ anything new. There was only the goal, an’ that was seven souls. And that seemed far off into the future—there were so many monsters that never got to see that. Nothing ever changed, without you.”

“Point is,” Gerson says, waving his cup at them, hooked on a single long claw, “Everything you’ve ever done? Has made monsters progress. That’s why nobody blames you, kiddo. Everything you did, an’ caused, good or bad, got us moving forward. I think—and it’s just what I think—all these things had to happen this way.”

They’re staring at the tiled counter again. He can nearly see the argument forming in their head, and cuts it off at the pass.

“And I mean _everything_. Your parents splitting, your brother’s passing—“ they flinch outright “—these things were horrible, but kid. We were _stuck_ in the same place without someone determined enough to push us ahead. _You_ got us moving again. And take it from me—that’s why you came here, right?—that’s the best thing you could have done.”

“But—“ they start in a small voice, and then stop. Gerson wants to sigh. He settles for draining his teacup instead.

“But nothin’. You were one of the best things to happen to the Underground. You still are. Nothing changes that.”

And then, in an act of bravery, or kindness, or maybe stupidity, he reaches out, and places a large scaly hand over their own. They look up sharply and he greets them with a smile. Despite the way their bright eyes glitter rather wetly, Chara ducks their head almost bashfully, with a wet little laugh.

“Thanks, Gerson. I’m sorry for—for unloading all this onto you. It means a lot to me that you—Well. I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, Chara,” he replies. They shift under his gaze, at the sound of their own name, and then pull their fingers back to finish their tea. “Though I’m not entirely sure that just b’cause I’m old, means I’m wise.”

“Never said that,” the child mumbles sheepishly into their shoulder, before grinning at him. “You’re plenty wise. And you’ve got good stories, so I don’t mind hearing stuff from Ye Olde Days.”

Gerson guffaws pleasantly. “You don’t, huh? Well, might as well finish off that pot of Sea Tea, shouldn’t we!”

“Oh!” For all of a moment, Chara looks like Frisk, with the way their mouth forms a round shape of surprise and realization. They scramble at their pockets, searching. “Wait, let me pay for those! They’re still 18 G, right?”

“Hold your horses, kiddo! You’re good as family. No charge for those.”

They frown a bit, even as they stop pulling out their wallet. Gerson very nearly laughs again, at both the way their frown is nearly a pout, and the worn leather covered in bright bandaids. Frisk has really rubbed off on them. “But that’s your product, Gerson—I’ve got to pay for it somehow.”

He hms. “You know, if you’re serious about it, I could think of a couple ways for you to pay me back. You’re, what, fifteen now?”

“…Yes?”

Gerson peers at them with one eye, a thoughtful expression. “So, I’m gettin’ on in years, and these ol’ joints make for running the shop myself more of a hassle than a pastime. If ya want, I can see you helpin’ me out around the place.”

Their eyes are wide, bright red and full of surprise. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Serious as, what’s that saying, a heart attack? I mean, pay’s not great, and’ll probably be stories about ‘Ye Olde Days’ half the time, but if you don’t mind keepin’ an old hermit company and a life-time supply of Sea Tea and crabapples, I’ll gladly take you on for the shop.”

He can see the point where the offer really begins to sink in to Chara’s head—it’s around the time their thumbnail makes it to their mouth. “I— _Yes_ , that’s— _Thank you_ , Gerson. That’s really generous of you.”

“Don’t mention it, kid. Like I said, you’re family.”

Gerson means that, sincerely. The grin slowly spreading on their face makes him hope Chara believes it.

Besides, he thinks, as he refills their cup and they text their mother about his offer, he’s got a sneaking suspicion he’s got a few more nuggets of wisdom (and perhaps comfort) for them yet. And maybe, just maybe, he can turn them into a storyteller too. The thought nearly makes him laugh, one last hearty _wa-ha-ha-ha._ He could do with an apprentice!


End file.
